A Stone's Throw Away
by Luna Manar
Summary: The Waiting Game is never pleasant.
1. Default Chapter

A Stone's Throw Away

By Luna Manar

LunaManar@aol.com

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"Do…or do not. There is no try."

1

One Week

One week.

Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand and eighty minutes.

She had not begun to count the seconds.

Rinoa let herself fall backward, stretched out her limbs as she landed heavily on an empty bed. She didn't bother to look at the time. And why should she? The numbers made no difference to her. All that mattered was that it was after curfew, and she was where she was supposed to be.

Not for the first time in the past three months, she questioned that logic. It had been a week since she had last seen him, and now it seemed that every minute, every second dragged out, on and on and on until the relentless ticking in her mind threatened to drive her mad if she didn't get up and _do _something. But it seemed time itself had made a habit of betraying her, as the hour dictated she should be in the dorms and out of the rest of the Garden. 

Meager light from the bedside lamp mocked her peripheral vision, pointedly failing to banish the shadows that were looming over her heart. 

She sighed and stared wistfully at the blank ceiling of Squall's room. Seven weeks out of ten, he had been absent from this place, his duties calling him elsewhere around the globe. Reconnaissance missions, undercover work protecting Esthar's beloved president as he traveled from country to country. Mopping up the remainder of Galbadia's scattered forces, evicting the corrupted republic from occupied cities… Squall had headed every mission. 

Rinoa hadn't even been allowed to be present when Timber had finally been liberated. 

She wasn't a SeeD, that was true. Technically, she was allowed to live here at Garden only because of her role in defeating Ultimecia, and because, being a sorceress, there was nowhere else in the world she would be completely safe from persecution. The latter argument had been Squall's presentation, a notably strange motion on his part, but not one that anyone had dared to dispute.

She closed her eyes, thinking of him now, wishing into the darkness of her thoughts that she would have the strength to curb her tears once more. Once more, she failed, stinging wet warmth sliding down her cheeks. 

Just two more days. Two more days, and he would be back again, to stay for however long his job would allow. Two days…

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Will I break down this time, she wondered, _or the next?_

Would she end it sooner, or later? Or never?

She rubbed at her eyes, banishing the thought. The answer was never. She could _never_ do that. Not to him. Not to herself. Every day she spent apart from Squall was torture, in the small, devious ways love could punish a soul. Breaking it off permanently? She could not fathom it, and she didn't want to. Going to sleep alone was hard enough. Waking up every morning, the bright sun beaming deceitful cheer in her face, was that much more unbearable. No amount of lonely light could replace the warm glow in her heart when he was by her side. For such a situation to be permanent would be nothing short of living hell. 

But no amount of pleading or haggling would get Cid to call him back any sooner. She had learned that much the hard way.

She was all right when Squall was here, when she could see him, speak to him, hear his voice and feel his touch. But his homecomings were more like short sabbaticals. Rinoa was beginning to feel like an inmate he came to visit every now and again; she was not supposed to leave the Garden alone. Not that anyone could or would stop her. But she abided by the request, if only because she knew that there were many people still out there who wanted to obliterate all trace of Hyne's descendants. She wasn't sure she was ready to face the world alone, just yet. 

But alone she would remain, unless something was done to end these endless weeks of hollow tears.

Rinoa had attended five Garden-hosted celebrations in the past nine weeks, only one of which Squall had been present for. Even then, he had left early, having just come back from a grueling mission and exhausted well beyond his tolerance. At the party, he'd been too tired to have much of a good time—not that Squall was particularly partial to group festivities, anyway—and his last words to Rinoa that rueful night had been caustic and unforgiving. She'd let it roll off her shoulders, familiar with Squall's snippiness when his head was full and his body hungry for sleep. 

Still, Rinoa hoped his next stay at Balamb Garden would be long enough to allow her some time to talk with him, perhaps convince him to ease up on his assignments a little. He was, after all, the undisputed leader of SeeD. If he chose to take a break, the only one who could countermand it would be the headmaster, and even Cid had agreed that Squall was prone to overworking himself. 

Trying to find things to rid herself of tears, Rinoa occupied her mind with ways she might approach Squall about requesting that he slow down. She did not want to beg or whine. He was much more open to concise, well planned-out suggestions he could make an immediate decision on. Forcing him to think about a schedule other than his own would cut a beeline to his ire, and it was difficult to reason with him once he was sufficiently peeved. 

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Oh, forget it, she decided finally. _I'm not a SeeD. I can't think like one._

Indeed, a SeeD would have more patience, she thought.

She could understand Squall's irritability when faced with potential shifts in schedule. If her life had been so busy, she would not have wanted to deal with interruptions, either. It would be far too much to keep up with. But as of the moment, she _had _no schedule, no specific thing she had to do every day. She had signed up to start schooling again in the Garden's general education program, but her classes wouldn't start until the next quarter, which was still a month away, after the current quarter had ended and the winter break had passed.

Thinking of this, she again longed to see _his _face, hear _his _voice. She needed the reassurance of his presence. There was none. He was gone until Tuesday, held fast by his duties halfway across the world…

And, of course, as with any military assignment, there was always the possibility that he would never come home.

Rinoa had seen Squall fight. She had unwavering faith in his ability to defend himself. That did not make him invincible, however, and of this she was keenly aware, every time she watched him leave, or thought about when he would be back. The were no guarantees. It was a truth she was beginning to despise more and more.

To be fair, life was not miserable in and of itself. Unlike Squall, Rinoa was not one to stand around brooding when there were fun things to do. There were any number of projects to help out with around the Garden, and, invariably, at least _one _of her friends was present at on any given day. She'd always make a point of meeting up with Zell, or Quistis, or Selphie, Xu, even Cid or—if he was willing to behave himself—Irvine. Everyone had off-days and free time every now and again. Lunch had become Rinoa's favorite time of day. 

If nothing else, Angelo was always more than ready for his morning walk by her side, and was her constant companion in Squall's absence, save in the dorms, where pets were not allowed. Angelo spent the nights in a makeshift run that had been built for him just outside the Garden's forward grounds; a sturdy, comfy doghouse having been fashioned from pieces of a dismantled Galbadian hover suit and carpeted with the discarded red robes of the now-defunct Garden Faculty.

Whereas Rinoa spent her nights here, in a silent room that housed no comfort and she was forbidden to leave.

Sometimes she could not stand being surrounded by the cold walls, and on those nights she stole out of Squall's dorm and down the hall to her own. She hadn't spent much time in her room since Ultimecia's defeat. It was smaller, with only a single twin-size bed and a shared bathroom. It was so ill-used, in fact, it had begun to accumulate a rather musty smell over the past month.

Rinoa had no plans to go there just now. The last time she had, the reality of her loneliness had closed in on her, and she had spent all night shifting between faceless nightmares and bouts of tears she couldn't seem to control. Alone in her room, she was vulnerable to herself. At least in Squall's, she felt safe; she could not break down in this room, on this bed. His stability lingered here, and it would not allow her to fall prey to her own heartache.

She smiled at this thought, turning on her side and curling up in a loose ball. She nuzzled the closest pillow with her forehead. She'd waited for weeks before. What were two days? She closed her eyes and reached behind her to switch off the lamp. 

Just two days, he would be here, and everything would be all right, again.

*

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Two days.

So close to the end of this assignment, and he was still so far away from home.

Squall was not particularly prone to homesickness. Nor was he given to questioning why he had been requested for a certain assignment. Right now, though, he was feeling very displaced, and he was hard-pressed to keep his thoughts on his job.

He folded his hands behind his head, trying to get comfortable on a rather ramshackle bed, the sole piece of real furniture in the room. He and his entire squad had booked the past week at a backdoor hotel in Dollet, the better to avoid the nuisance of publicity. Galbadia's forces, still stubbornly camped out a few miles from the port city when the SeeDs had first arrived, were now retreating toward the canyons, plagued with "random" assaults from "marauding" Guardian Forces, and threatened with imminent attack by the dukedom if they did not withdraw their forces immediately.

The public warning from Dollet had been propaganda, for the mostpart, a rallying cry to boost the spirits of the war-ravaged citizens. SeeD had done the real work, and their prowess was the danger Galbadia feared. Faced with such an enemy, the G-army had no choice but to flee. The action, which appeared to have taken in the face of Dollet's open threat, had seemed to the city as a victory, further bolstering their resolve to stand against Galbadia's tyranny and open communications with other countries. SeeD would be content to melt away into the shadows and let the battle-scarred city restore itself to its former glory, while under the watchful eye of the military elite. Meanwhile, Garden received a percentage of the dukedom's total revenue—and were on-call, should anything disastrous happen. In any case, SeeD was ready to offer armed assistance, either publicly or incognito, whichever the situation demanded. This time, a public display of prowess had not been necessary, in fact, could have been damaging. The bruised and bloodied city needed to believe they had won their freedom on their own. Otherwise, there was always the danger that the people would become dependant on whichever country could offer them the most security—a mentality that was self-defeating and self-destructive. What would it say to the citizens that a handful of specially trained mercenaries had deflected dozens of Galbadian regiments?

Squall had overseen the implementation of every aspect of this undercover mission. No one in his three squads—a total of eighteen people—had worn a SeeD uniform. And not one of them had been identified by either Galbadia or Dollet. Only the ever-elusive Duke knew who and where they were, and then only as it was necessary. 

Overall, the mission had been a complete success. No one had been killed, not even on Galbadia's side. The only casualties had been a few acres of GF-scarred dirt; and the wits of many a Galbadian soldier. Two more days, Squall and his forces would stay put, to make relatively certain the G-army was retreating, rather than regrouping. If the army did decide to attack, SeeD had a little surprise ready and waiting for them.

Nothing to do now but wait.

Restless, Squall sat up, rubbing at his scar as if it yet pained him. There was nothing about his job he disliked, particularly, except that it made having a personal life almost impossible. Traveling from place to place, constantly learning, constantly doing, and whatever the objective, the job was done right—at least, it had been so long as he was in charge.

That Squall had gotten used to being a leader was something of a half-truth. It was true that it was his job, and also true that he was more accustomed to giving orders now than he was to taking them. But not a moment passed that he did not question himself. Only a fool believed he was always right. Being a leader meant making decisions on the assumption that you _were _right. Hence, since he meant not to be a fool, Squall did not take decision-making lightly. How many people to send spying on a Galbadian camp? Who was best for which job? He would not dare assume he had the foresight to make these judgements, save he was the ranking officer, and it was his duty to do so. So he made the choices, taking note of anything those under his command had to say, and his decisions were always final. Experience had led him to the conclusion that a wrong decision was often better than no decision at all. _Indecision _put an operation in limbo.

The one thing he could trust himself to do was the best he was capable of. Rinoa had once told him that was all he could ever hope to expect of himself.

And at least for the moment, Squall had the opportunity to turn his thoughts to more important issues. He closed his eyes, mulling the true reason for this most sleepless of nights.

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I must be crazy.

Even as he thought this, he allowed himself a secret smile. Tell the Squall of last year he would be whiling away the hours in a scruffy old hotel, musing over the love of a girl hundreds of miles away, and he would have disdainfully denied it (or, more likely, refused to dignify the allegation with a response). Now, it seemed a matter of course that in this quiet, uneventful studio, he could not get her out of his mind. 

There was no more insidious distraction during a mission. Squall remembered how, in the past, it had always been his view that couples should be separated when it came to field assignments, as they could be too easily preoccupied with each other and hence jeopardize the mission. 

His opinion had changed somewhat, since then. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that the "love disruption" was not as symbiotic as he had once thought. Rather the opposite; the more he was _away _from Rinoa, the more he thought about her, and the more difficult it became to focus on his work. 

Squall smirked. His reaction to her absence was more akin to withdrawal than simple inattention. He would catch himself watching for her every day, seeing a shade of blue out the corners of his eyes and looking in that direction, half-expecting her to be there. The color would turn out to be nothing more than a door sign or an old car putting its way down the cracked streets. Every hour, he wondered, what was she doing, where was she, what was she thinking?

Every night, he wondered, _how much longer is she going to put up with this?_

It was a reality he knew he would have to face at some point. His job was demanding. His vacations—none of which had come up yet—would be few and far between. He was away from the Garden most of the time, and when he was there, he had other duties to perform. His time together with Rinoa was negligible in comparison. Precious, memorable. But negligible. His smirk faded, he turned on his side, facing the wall as the bedsprings protested his shift in position. 

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This isn't right.

He blinked a few times, staring sightlessly at the discolored floorboards. Ever since he was young, Squall had been notorious at Balamb Garden for his instinct against danger. He'd learned over time to attune himself to the tension in his gut, and more than once, that gut-feeling had saved his life. Some called it a fighter's intuition. Squall had never been impressed by it; if a dog or cat could predict earthquakes, what was so amazing about the ability to guess when something about a situation was not quite as it should be? He credited it to the better knowledge of his subconscious more than anything else.

He had been inundated with the queer sensation ever since he had left the Garden on this assignment.

Nothing about the mission itself bothered him. There were no special dangers—just a shred of an army that belonged to the world's second most powerful nation. With a few exceptions, everything had gone as expected. Though Squall knew that could change at any moment, he wasn't particularly worried about the mission. It was routine enough.

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But every time I think…what am I doing?

He swung around and stood up, glancing about the soulless room as if afraid someone was waiting to jump him from one of the corners. Slowly, he stilled himself, listening. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Even that shred of familiar noise vanished into silence; he held his breath, thinking.

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…Is this really where I want to be?

A chill escaped him. Squall's hands balled into slow fists at his sides as he stared tensely at the floor. _Every time I leave Garden it gets worse. Rinoa…_ He stiffened, looking off to the side, into the shadowy corners of his mind. _This is my life. I can't be anyone else. You know that as well as I do, but…_ But what? There was something, some thought or truth he was hesitant to acknowledge, cowering deeper into the dark crevices of his heart.

He shivered again, thought back to the last few days before they had faced Ultimecia. 

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I knew it was real, but back then, it looked hopeless. Ultimecia is gone…it's just us. How am I supposed to balance a life like this and…Rinoa? He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. _That's impossible. You can't prioritize a person above or below your life. Two completely different things. I've worked hard to achieve this career. This is who I am. But…who I am…_

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand, trying his best to think straight. Another pause for clarity, and his thoughts rolled on as if continuing an interrupted speech.

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…loves Rinoa. Whatever that means. Perhaps he knew, himself, but for all his training and experience, he could find no words to fit the definition. It was real, and that was all that mattered. _I can't lose that any more than I could quit my job. I wish she were here. What would she have to say about it? _He folded his arms, trying to keep himself from pacing. The wooden floorboards were noisier than the bedsprings. Stepping on them would be sure to wake anyone trying to sleep in the room below.

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What am I supposed to do? I never planned my life to include someone else. I'm here because I thought I'd be alone…forever. The thought itself stung. He hurried to get past it. _I don't want it to be that way, anymore. I…I _want…The realization struck him almost mindless. He'd never actively _wanted _anything significant, before, that he could remember. Now…_ I want…to be with her, and still be myself. Is that even possible?_

Squall did not pretend to know the limit of Rinoa's patience, and he had no desire to test it. He did not normally worry about the future, but considered it carefully at that moment, as he had the past few nights. The port at Balamb had been overcast and dreary when he had left by cargo ship on this mission (it had seemed the most discreet means of arriving in Dollet). Rinoa had accompanied him to Balamb, had held on stubbornly to his hand until it was absolutely imperative that he leave. She had stood in the chill, staring after the receding sea ship after it had left the port. Squall had stolen away to the window of the craft, and had watched jadedly as Rinoa shrank into the distance, her image motionless and unblinking as the steadfast lighthouse that once kept faithful watch over the orphanage of his childhood.

He remembered the last time he had seen that great structure. It had fallen into a sad state of disrepair after years of neglect. The tower itself still stood, but its brilliance had been lost somewhere during its tragic history. Now it was nothing but a totem of perishable memories, an object of pity and remorse, left to rust and rot in the ruthless sea winds.

Squall felt his eyes grow hot, and closed them, banishing the contemptible image from his mind. _She stays there, while my life takes me where it will…I'm never there, even when I want to be. Especially when I do. It hurts both of us to be apart like this all the time, but I keep making excuses to justify it. But what happens when you stay away all the time? Things happen, and we can't be there for each other…_

He couldn't help thinking about Ellone's story, how Laguna had not been by his own wife's side on the night of her death, simply because he had gone out to pursue his journalism career. No doubt Raine had waited as patiently, as hopefully, believing in her heart that one day, the man she loved would return home to stay. He had never come home. She had died calling his name…

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I can't let the same thing happen to Rinoa…I won't let it happen! 

So many tragedies. He refused to let himself or anyone he cared for become just another sob story.

He spent a moment more thinking. In the next, he was kneeling by the side of his bed, rummaging through a meager bag of belongings he had brought with him. From the bottom of the stash he pulled a pen and a pad of paper he normally used to draw up mission plans.

It wasn't cheating, he thought; what he had in mind _was _a plan of sorts.

He moved to sit down on the floor beside the only window in the room, making the best of what little light the stars had to offer. A date flashed into existence in the upper right corner of the pad. The next words that touched the paper danced lightly beneath Squall's practiced hand as he wrote:

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Dear Rinoa,

Wish you were here…


	2. Distance

2

When All Else Fails…

Balamb Garden was a very noisy place at 1500 hours.

There were thousands of things to be done every twenty minutes, and an organized chaos of people rushed hither-thither in order to get it all handled. Exams were given, sparring sessions commenced and ended, injured were ferried from the training center to the infirmary. There were students, SeeDs and instructors to be fed in the cafeteria. Notices had to be sent up to Nida to be announced over the intercom. The many gardens throughout the campus that honored its namesake had to be watered, weeded, and otherwise tended. Grades were handed out, arguments were started, insubordinate cadets were marched down to Cid's office.

There were some happenings worthy of note: A small, fleet-footed dinosaur had escaped the training area and led the Garden's most agile SeeDs on a heated chase through every wing of the campus before finally fleeing back into the training area of its own accord; meanwhile, a strange grinding sound somewhere in the Garden's MD level had been investigated, and the culprit apprehended—a large hawk had somehow gotten inside had been attempting to build a nest in the middle of the massive mechanics; a science experiment gone wrong has blown up half the biology lab that morning; the majority of female students had filed formal complaints at having the public women's bathroom walls painted an insultingly prissy pink.

All in all, a fairly normal day.

Amidst all this, Rinoa walked alone, the sole person in the Garden who had nothing critical to accomplish in the next fifteen minutes or forty-eight hours. 

She had spent the last three hours wandering the Garden in search of things to do. She had investigated a new shipment of books that had arrived in the library yesterday and found nothing of much interest. It was raining outside, so there wasn't much in the way of outdoor activities. Even the Quad was devoid of excitement—there were no performers on-stage today. Everyone was too busy.

She paced the curve of the wide pathway inside Balamb Garden's main dome, running her hand along the edge of the railing. Angelo trotted beside her, but even he seemed to have adopted her melancholy, for his head was down, nose almost touching the floor as he kept pace with her.

The numerous ceramic fountain fishes passed Rinoa in a haze of distant questions. She'd had lunch with Xu today, and found out from her that Squall had another assignment pending four days after he got back.

Of the four days, he would spend the first one sleeping, as he always did, recuperating from his mission. That would leave three more—three glorious days! As little time as that was, Rinoa was thankful for it. Plus, the next mission promised to be a short one, Xu had said, nothing more than a cameo appearance at one of Esthar's more important debate meetings—something to do with the deployment of military forces around the border. Once that was over with, his schedule was relatively clear until another mission was thrown his way.

Rinoa knew better than to count on such a 'clear' schedule. She had tried making plans ahead of time for such occasions and, invariably, had been disappointed when Squall was called away, sometimes before she'd had to chance to so much as ask him on a date.

So often, she wished she could be allowed to go with him. She had, after all, spent the better part of six months with him on a desperate quest to solve the mystery of a future sorceress who had her mind set on doomsday. She was used to seeing him in action. But, now that there was no more sorceress threat, Rinoa was not needed to fight anyone, and her presence in foreign countries would be more harmful than useful.

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But who says they have to know I'm a sorceress, she mused. _Only Esthar is familiar with me as Hyne's Descendent. Most other countries don't even know what I look like. All they know is that "The Sorceress" lives with SeeD. Even in Deling City, almost no one knows The Sorceress is me._

That still did not negate the fact that she was not a SeeD. For her to be taken on a SeeD mission, her powers would be needed specifically. Not many missions were labeled with that kind of import. But perhaps there was a way…

She would have to think on it. Meanwhile, walking around in circles was boring her out of her mind.

She stopped when she reached the base of the stairs leading to the elevator and hesitated, considering whether to go to the second floor or stay where she was. If she could find an empty classroom, she could use one of the desk terminals. It was always interesting to visit the Garden Square message forum. She wondered. Maybe someone there could tell her how Squall's mission was going. 

Angelo whined and nuzzled her hand. She bent down to scratch him affectionately behind the ears. "What do you think," she asked him. "Should we go see who's online?" She smiled as Angelo chipped a little bark in answer. "Then it's decided. Let's go." Still smiling, happy she at least had Angelo to keep her company, Rinoa stood and hurried up the steps toward the elevator.

It was better than aimlessly wandering the Garden. And who knew? Maybe she might find something else to do while she was at it.

*

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